From Newsprint to Footprints: A River's Edge Cozy Mystery (River's Edge Cozy Mysteries Book 1) (17 page)

Fred and I nodded, and I turned to him. "Did you ask Doc Shelton if I could look at those folders?"

He stared at me. "Not yet. They don't pertain to the murder, but I better let you look, and ask forgiveness later. He'd say no, at this point."

"Jeez. His father delivered me."

Sandi grimaced. "Yes, but back then he didn't think you'd maybe grow up to be a murderer."

SANDI SAID FRED HAD not given her a copy of the autopsy report, so after surreptitiously sliding a folder under her blotter, I sat in the back of the bullpen. A bookcase stood in front of the desk, because the former food reporter didn't want people staring at her. Or so she had said. I think she thought it made her less of a target when Hal was in a throwing mood.

The folders formerly on Hal's credenza were now in three piles, two being larger than the third. One group dealt with ag issues, including crop projections and a farm subsidy program. Another dealt with weather and the river. As Fred had said, Hal appeared to have been relating river depth to rain cycles and releases the Corps of Engineers made from the Red Rock Reservoir. I thought he just recycled river articles written in previous years. Apparently he actually looked at new information.

The third pile had three slim folders. If I hadn't known Hal, I might have seen the notes as innocuous ideas for articles. Two I could figure out.

Apparently, when he went out for coffee, he also checked to see which cars were at expired parking meters. He had license plate numbers and dates, and next to a few were names of a car's owner. I didn't need a crystal ball to know he was planning to write something that accused sheriff deputies of playing favorites in writing citations.

The three names he had were the mayor's wife, a deputy's personal car, and the florist, Tim Coker. For some reason Hal had always despised him. Probably no one had ever sent Hal flowers. In any event, Hal was going to annoy a lot of people. No surprise there.

A second folder dealt with the town's summer festival. It takes a lot of work, but almost everyone in town helps with it and has fun. Then and for a few weekends in fall, when the leaves are colorful, are the best times for local businesses. Hal had the vendor list for the past six years.

To the untrained eye, it might look as if he wanted one of us to do a feature on this summer's plans. However, he had placed a check mark next to Lions Club-sponsored booths and an X next to Rotary displays. I happened to know that there had been no separate Rotary booth the last three years because they split the cost of a booth with the Chamber.

Hal hated the Lions because they wouldn't let him into the annual pancake breakfast for free. Knowing Hal, he was going to write something saying the Visitor's Bureau gave preferential treatment to the Lions by giving them a separate booth.

The third file was probably a list of topics that hadn't been developed enough to merit a separate folder. Among items was a brochure about the new nursery in the hospital's Obstetrics and Delivery wing. What negative aspects there were to that I couldn't imagine.

A
Des Moines Register
article described historic districts in small towns, which included a two block segment in River's Edge. That part of town has several magnificent homes built from 1850 to about 1890 and a brick creamery building that no longer operates.

I've heard talk that the creamery building would be a good location for an indoor craft and antique mall. That sounded like something that Hal could write a negative article about. He would've complained about a business that catered only to tourists.

A couple pages of almost-indecipherable handwritten notes seemed to be random thoughts. 'FB August' probably referred to the county Farm Bureau's annual meeting. They let Hal in free. He liked them.

Hal had also doodled a fire cracker. He had bugged the Chamber for years about making the Fourth of July display a lot bigger. He seemed to ignore the rationale that insurance costs would be too high.

Hal had drawn a line across the bottom quarter of a paper, apparently so he could use it for a separate set of scribbles. There seemed to be a title. Ins O…something. I couldn't make out the word. Maybe ins and outs?

Another couple of words were profits and bids. Bids was underlined. Finally I realized that a few words, when put together with correct spelling and better penmanship, were the name of Hal's least favorite local independent insurance company, Blackner's. Was Ins insurance?

Since Hal had skewered Blackner's Insurance and had to retract the piece, it seemed odd that he would tackle an insurance company again, much less that one. There were several in town, a couple independent agents as well as State Farm and Allstate. What could Hal have been talking to Bruce Blackner about?

Had Hal written some of what he probably planned, more people might have wanted to kill him. But the articles hadn't come to fruition. I shut the folder, thinking of the past two hours as wasted time.

It was late afternoon. Fred was still in his office, and I didn't hear him talking. I walked in, intending to put the folders on top of the pile of boxes. As I entered, I realized Fred had been listening on the phone, so I mouthed "sorry" and backed out.

I placed the folders on the vacant desk outside his office and looked for Sandi or Ryan. Neither was in sight. I sat at Ryan's desk and wrote a note, which I placed under his blotter, just sticking out. "Did you check security cameras for Hal's car that night?" I figured that was safer than leaving the note on Sandi's desk. Fred often jotted her notes and might see mine.

I walked back to Betty's desk. She looked up when I got closer, and it was clear she had been crying.

I stopped. "I'm sorry, Betty, I didn't mean to bother you."

She tossed a wadded tissue into the trash can and pulled another from a box on her desk. "No problem, Melanie. You had quite a day." She blew her nose and reached in her desk drawer for a lipstick.

"Great to know it's all over town."

She smiled. "No one really thinks you did it. Yet."

I pasted a smile on my face. "Good to know. Listen." I stopped. I hated to make her cry more, but the only way to find out if she and Hal had dated or whatever was to ask. "So, Betty. Maybe you can help me figure out something."

"Sure."

I sat in the folding chair next to her desk, and she listened as I described Jean Roth's thoughts that Hal had a special friend.

Betty started to turn pale.

"So, you knew Hal longer than anyone here. Do you know who an evening visitor might have been?"

She turned to stare at her computer screen. Betty was in profile, back straight and chin raised. "I never heard him talk about a girlfriend."

Clearly we were done talking. I stood. "Um. Okay. Thanks."

She never heard him talk about one
. That didn't mean she wasn't his girlfriend or friend with benefits. I tried to remember something she said the day I found Hal. Something about knowing people who might want to kill him, but not anyone who knew how to do it without getting caught. Was she talking about herself?

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CONFUSED AS I FELT, I recognized there had been some progress. Hal had not driven his car into the woods. The killer must have driven Hal to Syl's place after killing him and moved the car. And then what, walked home?

It was the most logical explanation. To be sure they weren't seen, someone would have had to walk in the ditch alongside the road and duck into yards in town. And there was no guarantee the murderer walked into River's Edge.

And when would the murderer have retrieved my hoe? Planting it in the mulch pile was deliberate.
Somebody must really hate me
.

Or maybe I was simply a convenient foil. At first it seemed that only Sandi and Syl knew he hired me, but I'd explained the genesis of Hal's temper tantrum to Calvin Jenkins.

Even if the store manager hadn't blabbed to others, a lot of people heard Hal hollering. Anyone could have walked to a nearby aisle to see what was going on and stayed to listen to me talk to Calvin. Plus, the store manager probably had to explain Hal's outburst to some of his staff.

Still, while a lot of people would have heard by nine a.m. the following morning, very few people would have known in time to kill Hal and frame me by probably five a.m. If the sheriff or IDI wanted to, they could develop a list of people on what I thought of as the Hy-Vee grapevine. If anyone was trying to figure out who knew Hal threw fruit at me in Hy-Vee, I hadn't heard about it.

It just didn't make sense. What were the odds that someone who had wanted to kill Hal for a while heard he was angry with me and used the chance to frame me? I didn't know why I bothered to try to make sense of anything.

WITHOUT REALLY THINKING about it, I walked toward Blackner's when I left the paper at about two-forty-five. It was only two blocks, and I thought the walk in seventy-degree sunshine might clear my thinking.

Blackner's is only one building off the square, so it's a busy part of town. I was almost there when honking drew my attention to a large Buick, vintage 1970s. Mrs. Keyser waved and slowed down, which made someone in a sleek Volvo honk at her.

People don't honk a lot unless it's to alert one of the town's older residents that they missed a stop sign or to encourage a dog to get out of the road. Mrs. Keyser sort of waved into her rear view mirror and kept going. I watched the Volvo tailgate her. Must be from Des Moines.

Inside the insurance office, a thirty-something man sat behind the reception desk. I didn't know him.

I pulled the door shut, but not quite in time to keep a large fly from buzzing in. "Hey, I'm Melanie Perkins. I wondered if Mr. Blackner is in."

He smiled. He was slight, with sort of honey-blond hair and a carefully knotted yellow and blue tie. "Would you settle for a son-in-law?"

I sat in a seat next to the desk. "Sure. Let's see, you must be Cynthia's husband, right?"

He nodded. "Thought we'd try a slower pace than Cedar Rapids for a while. We just had twins ten months ago."

"Wow. I take it you mean a slower pace outside of your house."

He laughed. "Yep. If we'd stayed in Cedar Rapids, Cynthia would've had to go back to work. Child care costs would have taken up almost sixty percent of her salary. We can manage on one income down here."

"Did I miss your name?"

"My fault. Cynthia's husband isn't quite enough, is it?" When I smiled, he added, "Henry Rensler. Grew up near Cedar Rapids. She and I met at UNI."

"Ah. I went to Iowa." I paused. "I'm actually not here to buy insurance. I used to work at the paper…"

He snapped his fingers. "Oh sure, that's why I knew your name. Must have been a shock to find your old boss. You doing okay?"

"Mostly. I don't think as much about finding him as I did the first few days, but it'll never go away."

Henry raised his eyebrows to imply sympathy.

"So, I don't work at the paper now, but Fred and I, you know Fred? He's acting editor."

"Met him just a few weeks ago, when he was here on the weekend. I thought he moved to Des Moines."

"Kept his house. He's been in and out of town, and he'd be a really good choice to be a permanent editor. Anyway, I've been helping him decide which files of Hal's to keep, what to put in storage or somewhere."
That's close enough to the truth
. "I was just going through a file that had notes on articles Hal planned to write."

Henry laughed. "From what I heard, he already wrote something about Cynthia's dad."

"He sure did." I grinned. "And retracted it. From his recent notes, it looked as if he talked to someone here in the last few weeks. Maybe doing research for a story. Do you know anything about that?"

Henry frowned. "Don't think Hal had an appointment, but they could have run into each other somewhere. If you can hang out a few minutes, Bruce'll be back pretty soon."

I said I'd wait and went to the grouping of chairs for clients. A magazine cover said, "Insurance is Financial Planning." I thumbed through it. At some point, Ambrose and I would be able to sell our parents' farm. Until then, my financial planning was limited to making sure I had enough in the bank so all my automatic payments were covered.

The door opened. Bruce Blackner saw me and came to a full stop. "Melanie. What a surprise."

"Thought I might be in the pokey?" I stood, and we shook hands.

"It's all so strange, isn't it? Can I help you with something?"

I repeated what I'd said to Henry.

Bruce literally did an eye roll. "Hal had some questions for me. Come on back."

I smiled at Henry and followed his father-in-law down the hall and into a lavishly furnished office. His desk was fully five feet long, and its burnished cherry finish looked expensive. I sat across from him.

Bruce leaned back in his leather desk chair and shook his head slightly. "I have no idea what he was working on. No telling how Hal's mind worked. He said he was doing 'investigative reporting' about an insurance industry association."

"None of those in River's Edge."

He nodded. "He said it was a story that would bring a lot of attention to the paper, help keep the
South County News
in business. In fact, that was his hook to get me to talk. I'd have been happy to see Hal, personally, go out of business, but the town needs a paper."

I nodded. "I hear Doc Shelton and Hal's attorney are going to find a buyer for the paper. I hope they keep the staff."

"Hard to keep a paper profitable in a small community. Whoever takes over will be easier to deal with. Might help the advertising revenue."

I grimaced. "Anyone would be easier. Obviously the sheriff and his staff are investigating this. I thought I'd see if anything Hal was working on would have made someone angry. Or more angry than usual."

"He asked a lot of questions about insurance regulation in Iowa. You know we're state-regulated for the most part. He wanted to know what kind of oversight the Iowa Insurance Division has, especially over larger firms."

"That's odd. I never heard him talk about anything like that. Except," I smiled, "to cuss you out when he had to write the apology."

"Bit of cussing around here at that time, too." He shook his head. "He was such an unhappy man."

"All of us who worked for him, except Betty and Salty, were a lot younger than Hal. You have any idea why he was so darned miserable with himself?"

"That's a good way to put it. All I ever heard is that he lost his shirt in some get-rich-quick scheme in the 1990s. Not sure that was true, but I heard he put everything he had in it and it went belly up."

"Interesting. Hal was always mad about something. So, did what he asked about lead to anything about local insurance companies?"

He shook his head. "Not that I recall. He was mostly interested in whether I'd heard anything about bids for computer systems for a Des Moines company. But he didn't say which one."

I know someone who recently got a contract for an insurance organization in Des Moines.

BY THREE-THIRTY I was back at Syl's. My head felt quite a bit better, but when I bent over to tie my work boots, it made me slightly light-headed. Probably best to leave heavy stuff to Stooper.

Sitting on the steps were three hosta plants, each in a six-inch pot. A soil-stained note under one of them said, "No charge. Hope you feel better," and was signed by Farm and More's owner, Jody. Maybe he'd heard Andy had royally ticked me off. I'd have to thank him.

I'd been turning over what Bruce Blackner had said for more than an hour. I hadn't thought about Syl's angry phone call with someone since the day I'd heard it while crouched under his window. It could have been a routine business disagreement, but it had sounded like more than that. I couldn't think of a reason to ask him about it, especially since it happened a few days ago.

As I finished taking a rake, shovel, and hand tools out of my truck, Stooper entered the driveway and walked toward me. I raised a trowel at him.

As he drew closer, he smiled, something he rarely does. "Heard you had a good day."

"Nuts. Is it all over town?"

"Oh, yeah." He sombered. "Most people know Hal's car was found there. Make's 'em wonder how you knew."

Because it seemed that Stooper was telling me rather than asking for an explanation, I told him what had drawn me to Jed Nelson's property. "And I really didn't expect to find it. It just seemed a logical place to look."

Stooper had climbed into the pick-up to get to my wheelbarrow, and I grabbed the front of it while he slipped off the tailgate with the handles. It was only then that I noticed his hair was better trimmed and his eyes seemed more alert.

"I don't mind telling people you didn't do it. But you should be more careful."

"No kidding." I pointed toward the barn. "You want to use the wheelbarrow for the last of the mulch or get on that tractor?"

He answered my question by grabbing the wheelbarrow's handles and walking. "Syl's going to get a riding mower. I told him it'd use less gas than that old tractor if we were hauling lightweight stuff. Plus, he needs a mower anyway."

I stifled my surprise. "Did he appreciate the advice?"

"Yeah, he said he paid a guy from town seventy-five dollars, plus gas, to do it a couple of times. I said I'd do it for forty, and you and me could get a five-gallon gas can and keep it filled." He glanced at me as we neared the barn. "You don't mind driving me for gas, do you? I hate to put a full gas can in my trunk. Sometimes my muffler drags and makes sparks."

If it had been anyone else, I'd have been angry. I would've liked to make money mowing the lawn. But I hadn't thought to talk to Syl about it, and Stooper looked happier than I'd ever seen him. "No problem. I doubt anyone would steal the gas can, but we should be sure to find a way to chain the mower."

"I'll think on that. Bolt cutters work too easy on a chain."

We spent the next two hours working, with Stooper tackling the mass of weeds around the barn. I planted hostas and made a diagram of what was in the flowerbeds and what I thought should be added – a mix of perennials and the cheaper annuals.

Stooper and I were standing in the driveway considering what to do next when Syl's shiny pickup pulled in and parked. Syl was in a dark blue suit, with tie loosened and top shirt button unfastened. He carried a brown briefcase with one hand and held the other up in greeting. "Be out in a minute."

Stooper looked at me and frowned. "He don't stop to say hi?"

"Probably it's the end of a two-hour drive and he has business inside the house."

Stooper grinned and walked the few yards to Syl's truck, which he inspected as if he planned to make an offer on it.

Syl came out of his side door, bearing three bottles of water. Stooper and I took one, and Stooper immediately asked Syl if he wanted to look at the area around the barn. I trailed the two of them in that direction.

"See, Syl, all those weeds are gone. You can see that barn from a lot of your back windows. It'll look even better after Mel and me put down some more mulch."

Mel and me?

"Her favorite commodity," Syl said.

Stooper didn't get it.

Stooper had me tell Syl which of the now-visible flowers around the barn were daisies and which were day lilies. Syl's mouth twitched, but he simply thanked me.

"So, Stooper," he said, "I was thinking maybe you could pick out the mower for me."

They spent a couple of minutes going over the price range. Stooper glanced at the sky and said, "Gotta be headin' home." He turned and walked toward the road.

Syl and I were silent for several seconds.

"Nice flowers." He didn't hide a smile as he lowered his voice. "Your friend wants your job. Not enough headstones to make?"

"He works by appointment only," I said, dryly. "If it were anyone but Stooper, I'd be mad, but I don't think he has a devious bone in his body."

"No." The maddening twitch was back. "He's very direct." Syl started walking toward the house, and I fell in step.